


tie me up and tell me you love me

by sara_wolfe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bondage, Crowley submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known, Crying, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 11:43:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20488340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_wolfe/pseuds/sara_wolfe
Summary: Crowley can’t protect Aziraphale if love enters the equation. There’s no temptation for love, no excusing it in Heaven’s eyes. Love is dangerous. Too dangerous to be worth the risk.Crowley’s not worth the risk.





	tie me up and tell me you love me

**Author's Note:**

> for wholesome-revelry on Tumblr, who's prompt of Crowley and praise kink inspired a marathon writing session

Crowley’s on his knees with Aziraphale’s cock in his mouth the first time it happens. 

Aziraphale comes down his throat, tightens his fingers in his hair, and murmurs, “Oh, beloved-”

…and Crowley’s brain goes white with static as he teleports out of the bookshop without a word.

* * *

It’s not that Crowley doesn’t love Aziraphale; _of course_ he loves Aziraphale. He can’t imagine not loving Aziraphale, it would be like the sun not coming up in the morning. No, the problem isn’t him loving Aziraphale. 

It’s Aziraphale loving him.

Up until the last decade, their Arrangement had been purely a working relationship. But then the Antichrist came, and the stresses of trying to raise him while facing the potential end of the world made everything come into a clearer sort of focus, and everything came to a head one incredibly drunken night that ended with Crowley fucking Aziraphale over the arm of the couch until they both saw stars. 

And for the next several years, it was purely stress relief, and lust, and that was fine. Lust could be explained away if Heaven ever found out about their relationship. Crowley is more than willing to be the bad guy, the evil demon tempting Aziraphale into sinful thoughts and actions. If worse came to worse Aziraphale would be assigned back to Heaven for a while, but at least he’d be safe. 

But if love gets involved…

Crowley can’t protect Aziraphale if love enters the equation. There’s no temptation for love, no excusing it in Heaven’s eyes. Love is dangerous. Too dangerous to be worth the risk.

_Crowley’s_ not worth the risk.

There’s no point in trying to explain any of this to Aziraphale, however. The angel throws himself at dangerous situations like a lemming off a cliff, and Crowley’s afraid that telling Aziraphale about his concerns will have the opposite effect from what he’s intending. No, he’ll just have to do whatever he can to make sure Aziraphale falls out of love with him. No matter how personally painful it might be.

* * *

The Apocalypse comes, and the Apocalypse goes, and Crowley is so very tired. He faces Lucifer himself, and a potential execution in Heaven, and Aziraphale smiling softly at him over a candlelit table at The Ritz, and he can’t figure out which scares him more. 

He copes, as he usually does, by getting extraordinarily drunk until everything goes fuzzy at the edges. He copes even further by pushing Aziraphale down on the couch in the back of the bookshop and wrapping his mouth around Aziraphale’s cock, practically gagging himself on it in his urgency to forget everything but the feel of Aziraphale on his tongue. 

(Hey, no one ever accused Anthony J. Crowley of having _healthy_ coping mechanisms.)

He’s been at it for a while, alternating between fast and slow, hard and sweet, an unpredictable rhythm that has Aziraphale moaning and cursing his name every time Crowley backs him just far enough away from the edge that he can’t come yet. Between the alcohol and the endorphins, his brain’s a hazy mush and he’s floating on a wave of pure bliss. Not thinking, not reacting, just letting himself drift with the sensations flooding his body. So he can’t really be blamed for not picking up on Aziraphale’s rambling, sooner. 

“-oh, just like that, Crowley, my darling, my love-”

Crowley comes so hard his vision goes completely white. He thinks he might black out just a little bit because when he can see and hear again, there’s come in his hair and on his face, and Aziraphale is haphazardly petting him from his blissed-out sprawl on the couch. Crowley can feel his heart racing in his chest. 

“Um-” is all he’s able to manage, but luckily Aziraphale doesn’t look insulted. 

“My dear, that was simply wonderful,” he says, entirely too coherent for someone who, by all rights, should look just as wrecked as Crowley feels. “I love how good you make me feel.”

There’s the dreaded L word, the one Crowley has spent the last few years trying desperately to avoid. But it’s tied into his sexual prowess and that’s okay, because that goes back to Lust, and Lust is safe. He needs to keep Aziraphale safe. 

“Happy to be of service, angel,” he says, trying for a cocky kind of swagger. 

He thinks he’s hit the mark, thinks he’s kept things light, and lusty, and far away from all those messy, dangerous feelings, and then-

“My dear, I lo-”

Crowley bolts to his feet so fast that he overbalances and puts himself right back on his ass a second later. Popping back up again, he turns toward the door, trying valiantly to ignore the shocked, confused look Aziraphale is sending his way. 

“Well, I should really get going,” he starts, but then Aziraphale is standing between him and the doorway, a gentle hand on his arm, and when did Aziraphale get there, Crowley didn’t even see him move-

“Crowley, is something wrong?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowley frantically shakes his head so fast he gets dizzy. 

“Think I left the stove on, is all,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant and missing by a mile. “Plus, I should get home and see to my plants - they’ll be getting ideas if I’m not there before long-”

“Is this because I said I love you?” Aziraphale asks, before Crowley can stop him, and Crowley flinches, the word hitting him like a physical blow. 

“C’mon, angel,” he says, weakly, willing his legs not to give out, “I know the sex is good, but let’s be realistic, here.”

“I am being realistic,” Aziraphale insists. “I love you, Crowley. I have for years, even if I haven’t always been brave enough to say it. And you love me, too; I’m just sorry it took me this long to realize that’s what I’m feeling from you all the time.”

“Can’t be,” Crowley lies, immediately. “I’m a demon, remember? I don’t do love. Now, Lust, yeah, that’s me all day long. But not love. Not a chance.”

Then before Aziraphale can react, he teleports away, back to the safety of his flat.

* * *

He manages to hold out a whopping three days before he’s back at the bookshop to see Aziraphale. He brings wine, and chocolate truffles, and an apology he’s not really sure how to put into words, but it turns out he doesn’t need any of them. Aziraphale greets him at the door with a toe-curling kiss that practically makes Crowley levitate, grabbing his ass at the same time. Crowley lets out an embarrassing noise that he absolutely will not call a squeal. 

“Come upstairs with me,” Aziraphale says, when they finally pull apart. “I want to show you how much I’ve missed you.”

Crowley can only nod, struck speechless by the waves of desire he can feel coming off Aziraphale, and Aziraphale takes him by the hand and pulls him toward the stairs, leaning forward to kiss him again. Crowley spares half a thought to lock the front door behind them, and then the rest of his attention is taken up with trying to navigate the stairs while Aziraphale’s got a hand down the front of his pants. 

“Oh, the things I want to do to you,” Aziraphale breathes, as they enter his bedroom. “I don’t suppose you’d-no, never mind, it’s too much.”

“What is it?” Crowley asks, now dying of curiosity, because in all their time together, Aziraphale has never come out and actually asked for what he wanted. Shown him, yes, pushing and pulling Crowley to where he wanted him, but he’s never used his words. And Crowley’s not about to discourage him, now. 

“I’d like to tie you up,” Aziraphale says, shyly. “I’d like to tie you up and just-”

“Have your way with me?” Crowley finishes for him, grinning. “Angel, that’s very wicked of you. I lo-I approve.” He also hopes Aziraphale doesn’t notice his little slip.

“We don’t have to,” Aziraphale says, hesitantly, but Crowley shakes his head. 

“Oh, no, we’re doing this,” he declares, stripping out of his shirt and already starting to shimmy out of his pants before Aziraphale can react. “Where do you want me, Angel?”

“Middle of the bed, please,” Aziraphale says, briskly, and so confidently that Crowley’s starting to get a little suspicious that he might have just gotten played for a sucker. “On your knees for me, darling.”

Crowley crawls into the center of the bed that was suddenly much larger than before, large enough that he feels dwarfed by the size. He gets on his knees, rests back on his heels, and watches Aziraphale root around in a trunk at the end of the bed. He catches a glimpse of some very interesting things, things they could have been having so much fun with if he’d known they were there, and then Aziraphale is closing the trunk on the positively delightful array of toys and Crowley sighs in disappointment. 

“There’ll be enough time for those, next time,” Aziraphale promises him, as he joins Crowley on the bed. “May I see your hands, please?” 

Crowley thinks he might be just a little too eager in holding out his hands, but Aziraphale simply graces him with a fond smile and doesn’t call him on it. He’s got a length of silken, wine-colored rope in his hands that he winds around Crowley’s wrists and forearms in an intricate pattern. 

“I know black’s your usual color,” Aziraphale continues, as he slowly works the rope into a series of careful knots. “But I thought this would look beautiful against your skin.” Finishing the last knot, he sits back and surveys his handiwork with a pleased look on his face. “I was right. You are simply stunning, my dear.”

“’M not,” Crowley mumbles, automatically. 

He wishes he could take back the words as soon as he sees the shadow of a frown crossing Aziraphale’s face, but hundreds of years of denial and repression is a hard habit to break. He thinks Aziraphale is going to protest, going to say something about how Crowley shouldn’t put himself down, but he’s surprised when Aziraphale simply holds up a length of silk that matches the rope.

“May I blindfold you?” he asks, and when Crowley nods, he reaches forward carefully to remove his sunglasses, gently wrapping the silk around his eyes a moment later. The silk blocks out all the light from the room, and Aziraphale keeps his hands on Crowley’s shoulders, grounding him as he adjusts to the darkness. “If any of this gets too intense,” Aziraphale tells him, “all you have to do is say stop. I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed.”

“I’m a demon,” Crowley says, confident for the first time since Aziraphale had brought out the rope. “I think I can handle whatever you’re going to throw at me.”

(Oh, famous last words.)

* * *

Thirty minutes in, and Crowley’s never been harder in his life. He’s also never been more scared. 

“So beautiful, darling,” Aziraphale murmurs. 

He trails his fingertips lightly up one of Crowley’s arms, across the back of his neck, and down the other. He ends at Crowley’s wrist, his fingertips a warmth against his pulse point in distinct contrast to the rope he’s keeping just slightly cool. Crowley can hear Aziraphale, feel him, even taste him on the air, but he can’t see him, and it’s driving him just a little crazy. 

“You’re being so good for me,” Aziraphale goes on.

Crowley shivers, more at the impact of the words than Aziraphale’s teasing touches. He cranes his head around in the direction of Aziraphale’s voice, wordlessly begging for something - he doesn’t even know what - and Aziraphale takes pity on him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“I’m right here, dearest,” Aziraphale says, and the endearment draws out a whine from somewhere deep in Crowley’s throat. “How are you doing? Do you need me to stop?”

“…no,” Crowley slurs out, forcing his brain back into working order long enough to answer. He’s almost not entirely lying. 

He’d spent so long avoiding hearing Aziraphale make any declarations of feelings that he hadn’t realized how hard it would be to hear all of it directed at him all at once. But at the same time, the words make him feel strange, undefinable. He wants to deny and deflect like he’s always done. He wants to be good, like Aziraphale tells him he is. He wants, he wants-

“You were so brave, stopping time for Adam,” Aziraphale whispers into his skin as he mouths at the junction where Crowley’s neck meets his shoulder. “We were facing Lucifer, himself, and you helped Adam even though I could see how scared you were, and I am so proud of you.”

“Not brave,” Crowley can’t help but insist. 

“You are,” Aziraphale reassures him, trailing his kisses lower, down Crowley’s spine. “Just like you’re being brave now, letting me love you.”

His last kiss ends at the base of Crowley’s spine, his tongue tracing over a sensitive spot that sends a jolt through Crowley’s entire body. His hips jerk forward, helplessly, and he thinks he might fall on his face until Aziraphale wraps an arm securely around his waist, pulling Crowley flush against his chest. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Aziraphale murmurs in his ear. “You’re safe with me. I’ll take care of you.”

“Please,” Crowley sobs out, and Aziraphale presses a kiss to the skin behind his ear. Sliding his knee between Crowley’s splayed thighs, he nudges them just a little further apart, making Crowley lean more of his weight on Aziraphale’s chest. 

“Can you be patient for me?” Aziraphale asks. “Just a little while longer?” When Crowley nods - he’d walk though holy water if Aziraphale asked him to, this is nothing, really - he can feel Aziraphale’s smile against his skin. “Oh, I don’t deserve you, darling. I love you so much.”

Crowley feels like he’s just been doused with ice water. “No,” he chokes out. “Angel, please, don’t-”

“Don’t what?” Aziraphale asks, tightening his hold on Crowley when he feels him start to shiver all over again. “Dearest, what are you so afraid of?”

Trust Aziraphale to cut right to the heart of the matter. Crowley would laugh if he wasn’t so close to crying. 

“You can’t love me,” he forces out, though teeth that want to chatter with nerves. “They’ll hurt you if you love me, and you can’t - I’m not worth it. I need you safe, Aziraphale.” 

His voice breaks on the last word, and there are hot tears streaking down his cheeks, and he’s never felt more vulnerable, even lying naked and bound in Aziraphale’s arms. He gulps a shuddering breath as he slumps in Aziraphale’s warm embrace, all the fight abruptly drained out of him. 

Aziraphale’s arms tighten around him, just a shade shy of being painful, and then he’s maneuvering Crowley to lie down on the bed, the satin sheets cool against his overheated skin. Aziraphale’s deft fingers make short work of the knots, pulling the rope away from Crowley’s arms, but Crowley flinches when he reaches for the blindfold, an involuntary whine being pulled from his throat. 

“Shh,” Aziraphale soothes him, gently. “You’re safe, sweetheart. I just want to see your eyes.”

He moves slowly, unwinding the blindfold from Crowley’s eyes in increments, giving him time to adjust to the loss of the comforting weight. Crowley had expected the light to be blinding, after total darkness, but the room is pleasantly dark, giving him the illusion of hiding, if not the reality. 

“There you are,” Aziraphale says, and the smile on his face is so affectionate, so _loving_, that Crowley almost bursts into tears again. As it is, a couple stray drops slide down his cheeks, and Aziraphale brushes them away with his fingers. “My darling,” Aziraphale goes on, and Crowley’s heart clenches, painfully. 

“Don’t,” he whimpers. “Angel, you can’t-”

“I can love you, and I do,” Aziraphale says, firmly, one hand on Crowley’s cheek to keep him from turning his face away. When Crowley opens his mouth to protest, Aziraphale shoots him a look. “Darling, must I gag you?”

_That_ sends a bolt of heat straight to Crowley’s neglected cock. He’d thought he couldn’t possibly still be hard after his breakdown, but apparently his body and his brain are operating on different wavelengths. He tries to hold back a desperate whimper as Aziraphale looks him over, a knowing smile on his face, but he fails. 

“My poor dear,” Aziraphale says, reaching down to wrap his fingers around Crowley’s cock. “I promised I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” 

He strokes Crowley leisurely, from the base to the head of his cock, and Crowley’s eyes drift closed. Aziraphale’s other hand comes up to card through Crowley’s hair, tugging lightly at a few strands.

“Eyes open, love,” he scolds, gently. “I want to see all of your pretty face when you come for me.”

And what can Crowley do but obey that voice? He forces his eyes back open even though he wants to hide in whatever way he can, forces himself to meet Aziraphale’s warm gaze. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale repeats, as he strokes Crowley agonizingly slow. His fingers drag along Crowley’s over-sensitized skin, just enough of a burn to make Crowley’s breath stutter in his chest. “I’m able to love you because you protected me when I needed you. Because you walked into Heaven for me, and you saved me from hellfire. I’ll never have to worry about Heaven again, because you were so brave, so clever to figure out what Agne’s prophecy meant.”

“Heaven could still-” Crowley tries to protest, but Aziraphale silences him with a tug on his hair and a tug on his cock, and the contrasting sensations make his head whirl. 

“We’re on our side, now,” Aziraphale reminds him. “You’ll protect me, and I’ll protect you, and we will be safe. We _are_ safe,” he stresses, emphatically. “Do you love me, my dear?”

“More than anything,” Crowley confesses. 

“And will you let me love you the same way?” Aziraphale asks. 

Crowley can only nod, a fresh spate of tears springing to his eyes, tears that Aziraphale kisses from his cheeks while he scratches his nails lightly against Crowley’s scalp and down the back of his neck. 

“I want you to love me,” Crowley whispers, and Aziraphale’s smiling is positively blinding. 

“I do, dearest,” he croons, his hand moving faster on Crowley’s cock. “I have loved you for so long, and I will love you until the end of time, I cherish you, my beautiful, my beloved-”

When Crowley comes, he feels like he’s flying. And when he comes back down to Earth, it’s to the feel of Aziraphale’s arms wrapped around him, and Aziraphale’s lips pressing aimless kisses in his skin, and Aziraphale’s love flowing through him, so pure and powerful and bright-

“I love you,” he gasps out, holding onto Aziraphale with all the strength he can muster. “Angel, I love you so much, I’m so sorry-”

“Hush,” Aziraphale says, a finger on Crowley’s lips. “Don’t ever apologize for wanting to keep me safe. What better gift could I ask for than that kind of love?”

“You’re my gift,” Crowley slurs, eyes drooping closed. He doesn’t know if he even makes sense, but he can feel Aziraphale pressing the gentlest of kisses to his eyelids and he thinks maybe he got his point across. 

“Sleep, dearest,” Aziraphale says, as Crowley tucks his head under Aziraphale’s chin, listening to the slow, even beat of his heart. “I think maybe it’s my turn to protect you for a while.”


End file.
